A Series of Unfortunate Events

Hello you! Hello you wonderful Humane Egoist blog readers, you! I hope you're having a good day so far. I hope you woke up, took a lovely bath (complete with lavender bath salts and wilted rose petals), read two chapters of your favorite book, had some skillfully prepared Eggs Benedict and a mug of hot cocoa, said your daily affirmations, and dressed in a silk pantsuit (boy or girl--doesn't matter--a silk pantsuit always works!).



If you had a morning that went more like this: got up, peed, took a quick shower, looked at naked self in mirror and shuddered at/silently berated self for wrinkles, fat rolls, blemishes, skin discoloration, or other deformities, ate a Toaster Strudel on which the icing that you not-so-deftly applied to it looked nothing like the picture on the box, dressed in fraying jeans you bought at Wal-Mart, stepped in an icy puddle while walking to your car, spent 15 minutes scraping ice off of your car even though you had convinced yourself that this morning was definitely warm enough for there to not be ice on your car (spring is here! you convinced yourself, until you walked outside and realized that no, spring is not here. Father Winter's icy fingers are still wrapped tightly around your world, or at least your car), and sped away while wondering if that tiny brown freckle on your left index finger is melanoma, then your morning was much closer to mine. Well...minus the Toaster Strudel. My parents don't allow me to eat Toaster Strudel. I only wish I was allowed to eat Toaster Strudel.

I hope you all have been well since I last posted! I, sadly, have not been well. I had an ear infection. I had to go to a walk-in clinic. A doctor squeezed my armpits. A nurse told me my blood pressure was high. She tried to be nice and blame it on the BP cuff, but I know it's me. My car wouldn't start. My dad got it to start by popping the clutch. I said, "I'd like for someone other than you to tell me the car is ok." He said, "So now you're afraid to drive it!" He's scary when he shouts. He said, "Every time it won't start, just pop the clutch!" But I don't want to have to do that. Because you have to get the car rolling in order for that to work, and then jump in real quick and pop the clutch, and I feel that people would point and laugh if I was attempting to get my car rolling in the Genesys Regional Medical Center parking lot. I can't handle that kind of stress. I would get all sweaty. On Friday (the 13th), My Dad and I tried to go see Friday the 13th, but it was sold out. We had to see "Taken" with Liam Neeson instead, and on top of that, we walked in 20 minutes late and when we sat down, the couple that was sitting in our little 6-seat row (read: two empty seats between us and them) got up and moved away to the second row of the theater, which is (and I think we can all agree on this) not an ideal spot to sit, so they must have been really offended by our presence. On Valentine's night, I sat around in the dark feeling sorry for myself, even though that is a total cliche. Then I thought, I'll make myself feel better by cooking a really nice dinner. Then I got food poisoning. Or, it wasn't food poisoning, but it was some sort of flu bug that hit me all at once. It made me so sick that I threw up 6 times. Then I went to sleep. I slept for five hours straight, which made me happy because by the time I woke up I didn't feel sick anymore, but sad because I'd been planning to spend the day watching old episodes of Six Feet Under, as they are the only thing that make me happy of late...old episodes of Six Feet Under and Toaster Strudel, that is.